


Gravitate

by Danowsawa



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Brother-Sister Relationships, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 22:52:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11496426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danowsawa/pseuds/Danowsawa
Summary: Aleksandra Zaryanova grew up on the very front of Russia's Omnic War, knowing nothing but of its reconstruction, aftershocks, but most of all, its heroes. With the Omnium still humming, she dedicates her life to being just as legendary as those she idolized for years.





	1. Chapter 1

Aleksandra roared. She had done so ever since she was a child, hearing stories of her village; tales of courageous men and women battling against the omnics that had attacked quite some time before she had even been born. She had always admired those stories or, rather, the people within them, but she had always wanted to be a dinosaur as well, and whenever an older local would recount the old stories, they inevitably would always compare the omnics to dinosaurs.

In her childish mind, Aleksandra emulated dinosaurs, roaring and stomping around the house, careful to perfectly follow the poses she would find in her books. Her brother and sister were less than enthused to follow in her claws, but her parents found it rather endearing, though they made it clear to little Aleksandra not to do it outside, preferring not to upset anybody whose memory may be singed by the omnic attack.

Fortunately for her parents, they had immigrated to this village after the crisis, helping with reconstruction around the region. Soon to be beloved by the locals, they were generous and kind, though disconnected enough to allow their daughter to go along with her fantasies.

Outside, Aleksandra was quick to park her imagination, which wasn't much difficult at all. One step outside their little shanty and reality would hit like a brick; the small city was still recovering, with buildings torn asunder, some on them only standing tall through rebar and some inner infrastructure, resembling skeletons more than buildings.

It always made Aleksandra sad to see that world, but she loved the people that surrounded that madness. Her parents would routinely head out to offer food to help to anybody who required them, and as the oldest, they would often take Aleksandra along, who would help out, but it mostly to see the bright faces of the old-timers, who would perk up at the small sign of youthful life, especially such a conscientious one.

Sometimes, even, her parents would have one of their homeless countrymen stay with them- a practice most all of the luckier citizens partook in. Aleksandra would help her mother in the kitchen, but could hear the stories being recounted in the other room, her mother listening as intently as she was. Of course, she would have to hold off on her imagination at these times, though her interest in other people's lives made it less of a hindrance.

One night, they'd had a new visitor, a local man who'd fought in the omnic war, leaving him with a very noticeable scar tattooed across the length of his face. He wasn't much different from any other, though he would often retire early to bed, leaving Aleksandra with a slight dissatisfaction at not being able to satiate her unending curiosity of the old man.

Aleksandra sat at the dining room table, carefully reviewing her homework alongside her brother and sister, Sasha and Luka. They weren't all too far apart in age, but nevertheless, the months that separates them might as well have been decades. Aleksandra made sure to instruct her siblings, though teasing was certainly in order on occasion.

On this night, however, she was too absorbed in her own work to pay them much attention. Caught between multiplication and division, she clutched her head in frustration, a sigh coming from her, catching her father's attention.

"You have it now, Lesya?" her father chimed with a rough voice.

She groaned, "No…"

Her father grinned, hanging his sweater before making his way over, standing behind her and leaning over her, going over her work, "Well you've got the multiplication down-… Hang on, how did you get the correct answer without showing your work?"

She shrugged, "I just guessed?"

Her father sighed, though he ended it with an endearing chuckle, "Dear, that won't cut it every time. Look…"

He pulled the next chair back and sat beside her, pointing to the notations on the sheet of paper as he explained the process, as he'd done, now, every night this week. He would never get upset; he simply would explain the process again and again, somewhat differently each time, hoping one of his explanations would stick.

Outside of the heat of the moment, Aleksandra would often feel bad for being a burden to him. The child of two very logically-minded people, she always felt a bit inadequate when left to her own creative mind, though her parents were always quick to reassure her of the contrary.

"How's that?" her father asked.

Aleksandra twisted her lips in thought, "…okay…"

Grinning, her father patted her back, "Just try that out for a bit, alright? I need to go check on Mr. Ivanov, but I'll be back down later if you still need help."

Aleksandra enthusiastically spun around in her chair, "Is it true he ripped an omnic's head clean off?!"

Her father stared at her critically, "Now where did you hear that?"

His daughter shrugged, "I dunno; school. They were talking about the war and the, uh…"

She turned back to the table, unable to recall exactly what it was she was attempting to remember. She reached out for the encyclopedia, rapidly flipping through the pages as her father leaned against the door frame, smiling as his arms crossed. Aleksandra finally made it to 'Столбцы грома', lifting the book up and pointing at the name, which was accompanied by a picture.

"That's "Columns of Thunder", dear. and, no, as far as I can tell, Mr. Ivanov was not one of them. What, did you think the scar tipped him off?"

She shrugged, "Just something someone said when I described it."

Her father smiled as he stood up straight, reaching for a small basket of food, "Tell you what, I'll ask him, just for you. How's that?"

"Okay!" Aleksandra shouted excitedly.

"But you get on those equations, okay?" he reminded, pointing at the table, "If you get enough correct, you may find a cookie somewhere before bed."

With all the motivation of the world now, Aleksandra quickly turned back to her work, though she had to flip through the encyclopedia again as she closed it. She loved that book, and took any chance she could to check out another entry. Tonight was no exception, and as she made her way through, she managed to come across "Динозавр"- dinosaur.

Her lips curled into a grin at the thought, though she still managed to close the book up and return to her homework, the sweet promises that had been made being too much to ignore.

\----------------------------------------------------------

Unable to get to sleep, Aleksandra kicked her blanket down toward the foot of the bed, not able to cool down either. She groaned to herself, knowing she'd be cranky tomorrow as a result, though it only served to agitate her further. She reached down and lulled the blanket back over her, spinning around, moving her legs- desperately seeking some sort of comfort.

Ultimately, she sat up with a grumble, shifting to the edge of the bed and crawling off, careful not to wake her sister in the bed next to her. She tip-toed toward the door, making her way out and into the hallway that led to the stairs, though she made sure to turn on lights as she went, knowing everybody's doors would be shut anyway by this time.

Getting down to the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of milk, standing at the refrigerator, staring crankily at the steel-like appliance, blinking slowly as she continued taking sips, both hands clutched around the cup. As she finished, she washed the glass out before sitting it in the sink, making her way back to bed with a sigh.

As she returned to the top floor, however, she began tip-toeing again, though this time, her mind flew back to that entry in the encyclopedia, her creeping gait already resembling something of a tyrannosaurus rex. She brought up her arms and began lanking down the hallway, smiling mischievously as she headed on down toward the final light switch.

Crossing the perpendicular hallway they led to the single guest room, she paused, keeping her form, as the feeling if being watched. Teeth barred and all, her head turned slowly toward the guest room, Mr. Ivanov peering down toward her, blankly.

Aleksandra stared at him for a brief moment before straightening herself out, silently, before continuing on walking to her room, gingerly shutting the light off. She hurried into bed, knowing she'd done something she shouldn't have, covering herself up with her blanket. She worried whether or not she had upset the guest, who was surely onto her, already, after being asked such an absurd question earlier.

She shut her eyes, full of embarrassment and shame, seeking desperately the sleep she knew was much farther off, now.

\----------------------------------------------------------

At dinner the next night, Aleksandra poked at her food, quietly, for most of the meal as the others talked. Both her parents kept their eyes on her though, confused by her lack of conversation with their guest at the table. Still, they respected her silence enough not to field questions for her.

"I'm very grateful to you all, though," Ivanov spoke quietly under his breath, "Doctors have told me my whole life that I have calcified bones, so they're quite stronger than most, but that doesn't seem to be much of a factor at such an old age. Your children are quite well behaved, I must say; you've certainly done a fine job, Karina."

Aleksandra's mother gushed, covering her face, "Oh, well they're all such great children to begin with! It wasn't much of any trouble; they have such a great role model in their sister, anyway."

Aleksandra felt Ivanov turning to her, causing her head to dip a tad lower than it had been, though instead of addressing her, he changed the subject, thankfully, "Anyway, I hope to not have to be in your care for any longer than I must. Even for these months of displacement, I haven't gained an immunity to imposition."

"Nonsense," Aleksandra's father spoke powerfully, "You live, breath, and most importantly, you bleed; you are my brother, and you are welcome."

Ivanov chuckled in a higher pitch, "Viktor, you truly know how to inspire."

The younger man smiled as he leaned over his plate, finishing up by swallowing his food, "You can't exactly do much social work without having a love of country and a silver tongue."

Ivanov nodded slightly before continuing his meal. Viktor peered over toward his oldest, still concerned over her lack of curiosity. He figured, however, if she wouldn't ask much of anything, he could do it for her.

"Hey," he spoke up, "You were involved in the omnic crisis, correct?"

Ivanov blew his breath through tight lips as he leaned back, as if relieving a large weight from his shoulders, "Uh, why yes, indeed! Are you attempting to ascertain the origin of my scar, my friend? I can assure you, it wasn't by malicious means- that is, not malicious on my part!"

Viktor chuckled, his deep voice considerably lighter as he continued, "No no, nothing like that. I was just curious; I mean, given my work, I do enjoy listening to recounts of it from those you have an easier time doing so. I know it's not exactly, uh, easy for some."

"Well, uh," Ivanov paused to think, "I mean, I was just a simple foot soldier. We quickly realized the Omnium was producing more omnics than we could withstand; very early on, we knew that it had to be shut down, so we sent different strike teams to do so, one of which I was a part of, though we never made it."

The old man sighed reluctantly, "We did our best, but were quickly overrun. I just barely made it out alive myself."

He pounded his chest lightly with a grin, "Strong bones."

Viktor smiled back, leaning forward, "And, uh, you knew about the Columns of Thunder, correct?"

At this, Aleksandra's ears perked up, as did her face, gently lifting up enough for her eyes to just catch Ivanov's reaction, which must have been rather subdued as he didn't move while replying, "Ha! I mean, of course; we all did. Why do you ask?"

Viktor laughed, leaning back, "Nothing really. Just a rumor going around that you must have been a part of the group. I'm assuming your, uh, scar has somehow contributed to such things."

Ivanov lowered his head, almost sadly, "To answer your question, uh, no, I wasn't a member. but they were truly near and dear to my heart. To everybody's."

He sighed deeply, turning to Viktor with a distant stare, "We had stories relayed from across the world, where the other Omniums had begun pouring out evil; we were the only place that seemed so ill-equipped to defend, I mean, we were mostly an assemblage of small towns and villages. Other than Australia, everybody else appeared to be so much better equipped to deal with these things and we were running around with sticks and stones."

"Then, out of nowhere, this collection of…well, some revere them almost to the point of deity now, but they truly were just humans," he explained further, "Humans with a little something extra, apparently."

His face slowly brightened as a knowing grin came across his face, "The strongest of men and women; they did with their bodies what our armies couldn't do with tanks."

The table turned quiet, which Ivanov seemed to notice only slowly, as he's eyes suddenly peered around, almost embarrassingly, "…or so the stories go, anyway. Regardless, they became great symbols of Russian strength; whether or not their might is embellished, that inspiration did more to turn the tide than any word or action."

He shrugged as he leaned down toward his bowl, taking a final sip of the soup before turning toward Karina with a smile, "This is truly delicious; may I bother you for another helping?"

"Y-Yes! Of course!" she stammered as she quickly took to her feet, careful to walk silently into the kitchen, lest she fail to catch any other word being spoken.

Ivanov grinned as his attention returned to the table, his eyes flashing toward Aleksandra for only the briefest of seconds before lowering his head once again, as though he had grown tired from speaking so much, and so fervently. In compensation, Viktor reached over toward his son, Luka, and pulled his bowl closer to the edge of the table.

"Eat, son," he instructed, the boy simply staring at the old man with a look of awe.

Aleksandra couldn't help but stare either, her eyes almost dark as she watched him carefully. She reached down into her lap and pulled out her encyclopedia, catching Ivanov's attention as the large book gently hit the table. She carefully flipped through the pages, and as she did, Ivanov's lips seemed to curl more and more into a smirk.

Finding 'Столбцы грома' again, she spun the book around and pushed it across the table toward the old man, her voice leaving her with authority, "Why are you in this picture?"

More curious than upset by his daughter's imposition, Viktor slowly crept toward the book to see what it was she was pointing at, but Ivanov began to chuckle before he could get a look, forcing him to turn toward him.

"Ah," was all the man muttered, though it didn't quell Aleksandra in the slightest.

She watched him seriously, "I've read through this thing five times, and I've read everything about the omnic war even more. I recognized that scar as soon as I saw it."

Viktor peered curiously toward Ivanov, who only laughed as Aleksandra finished, "Except you're clearly much older."

"Very observant," Ivanov smiled, "But if you look closely, everybody in that picture has, more or less, the same kind of scar."

Aleksandra hurriedly examined the picture again, her head jumping back in forth in comparison before the old man continued, "It's a very common scar; it seems the omnics knew to aim for the head."

Staring at him, almost angrily, Aleksandra's eyes poked out from her bowed head as her mother returned, placing another bowl of soup in front of the old man as he spoke up again, "Oh, thank you very much, Mrs. Zaryanova!"

"It's no problem at all!" she assured him suddenly, snapping her fingers toward her youngest children, "Luka! Sasha! Help me take care of the dishes."

They followed along, but only reluctantly, still intrigued by this, now, mysterious man. Leaving only Aleksandra and her father at the table with him, the kids exited, though Aleksandra remained resolute in her stare-down. Ivanov noticed and simply smiled at her.

"I assure you, I didn't mean to disappoint you," he spoke lightly.

Viktor waved him off, "My apologies, friend. She's been enamored by the war for most of her life; I'm afraid we may have exposed her too much to the aftermath. She's very dedicated to her fellow people, though, it seems that she's also delved into some of the mythology."

Ivanov shrugged, "Sometimes mythology can be a powerful vehicle, my good sir."

He turned toward Aleksandra, grinning, "Sometimes, that which has become legend may, indeed, be grounded in fact."

Aleksandra's eyes widened as they met with his, full of reverence. Viktor stood up graciously as he took the bowl in front of his guest, heading into the kitchen with the final dish. Leaving Ivanov with Aleksandra, the old man leaned onto the table toward her, smiling with a grin much younger than the wrinkles upon his face.

"Do you wish to be like those men and women?" he muttered quietly, "Powerful enough to tear apart mountains, should they oppose you or the ones you love?"

Aleksandra couldn't find a word, but she just managed to seek out a nod, causing the man to grin wider, "Then you should stop imitating omnics, and begin imitating us."

He leaned back into his chair with a smile, his head leaning back as his eyes closed, seeking out rest. Aleksandra's eyes were glued onto him, mouth gaped open in godly reverence for this man- this Column of Thunder. Even once the other slowly returned, bringing with them conversations of reconstruction and recovery, her eyes never left his face, trailing again and again down his scar.

She knew, then, that she would never roar again. Ever.


	2. Chapter 2

The crowd roared, louder than anything Aleksandra had ever heard before. Even through the deafening walls around her, it sounded like the voices of millions, a raucous cacophony of insanity- all of them there to see her. Still, she wasn't frightened, as she had been the first time she'd stepped foot inside an arena such as this. She simply sat atop her giant box which held her supplies, bent over herself as she slowly lifted a rather flimsy dumbbell up and down, staring distantly into the ground beneath her.

"-there, yeah? Alright; I want it done yesterday!" came the pining voice of her agent, simply known as Bruno, his fingers twiddling amongst themselves nervously as he walked hurriedly to Aleksandra's side, "Whew, I've never put on an event this large before. How you doing?"

Aleksandra didn't move, and her arms continued steadily rising and falling like an oil derrick, "Just staying focused, sir."

He nodded jitteringly, peering around the room, confused, "Uh huh, and where's Lars?"

Stopping her routine, Aleksandra looked up herself, confused, "Huh, he was over there. I'm not sure where he went."

Bruno groaned, but remained however much composed he hed been up to this point, "Alright, alright. Think you can go on without him?"

"It might be for the better, honestly," she groaned, "I wouldn't ever let the nerves get to me, but it is still unnerving to see him out there still. He probably thinks it's a decent motivator. I thought it would be as well, to be honest."

"Well, we've got what we've got; can't exactly turn back now," Bruno groaned, shaking as his head as he turned away, stopping just as the nearby door to the locker rooms shot open, revealing an older man, almost stumbling over toward the two, forcing a glare from the manager, "Good you could join us."

The white haired man managed to make his way over to the two, kneeling down beside Aleksandra, who watched him carefully, "You're drunk."

"Obviously," Bruno muttered coldly, checking his watch.

The old man shook his head, "I'm fine; nothing that I can't…"

His voice faded away as his hands worked rapidly to wrap the workout tape around Aleksandra's arm, slowing up as he worked it up her arm, finally coming to a crawl. Bruno approached and pushed him aside, finishing the job for him.

"Okay Lars, I'm not going to have you out there. I'm not going to be the one responsible for having a trainer passing out on the floor. Just…stay back here, will you?"

Lars reached over to return to his last task, but Bruno pushed his arm away before standing to move to her other arm, the old man's voice emerging, "I-I can't miss this. It's the biggest event she's ever-"

"You, sir, had the chance to be out there," Bruno seethed, his hands dexterously working their way up Aleksandra's other arm, "You blew it, again. I refuse to risk my client's future because her trainer can't manage without a bottle."

Lars fell back onto the concrete floor, holding his face in shame as he curled up into himself, his body shaking slightly as he cried, silently. Aleksandra could only watch for a second before turning away, sadly, as Bruno sighed, patting her arm.

"I don't know why you keep him around; there's a million other trainers out there," he shook his head, "I've had plenty of drugged up client, but this is the first time my client has been cleaner than fresh snow and her trainer was sauced beyond all reason."

Aleksandra replied, sadly, almost too quiet for Bruno to hear her, "I can't."

Bruno groaned, though it was what he had heard time and time again. As long as the great Zarya was winning championships, however, it mattered little to him how messed up her trainer was. He shrugged as he stood up, checking his watch again.

"Ten minutes. Probably have him out or in another room before the show? I don't want cameras rushing in here after you, catching his sorry ass."

Bruno walked off hurriedly, shouting to somebody down the hall in a different language, leaving Aleksandra there to hold her head up in her hand, her eyes shut in emotional exhaustion. She could still hear Lars' muffled whimpers behind her, and she finally stood up, reaching over to pick him up and onto his feet.

Stumbling still, she helped him toward a table for him to lean on, her hand gently pushing his long, white hair out of his face, "Father, you're killing yourself."

He shook his head, "I'm fine, I swear. I just got a little-"

"You're killing your daughter too."

His head sunk, shaking as he began to cry again, though Aleksandra lovingly lifted his head up again, grabbing a towel from the table to dry his tears, his voice choking as he spoke up, "I'll stop."

"You say that every time," she noted, running the towel over his eyes, "I did all this to help you, but… I mean, you have to be willing to help yourself."

"I know," he nodded, "I know. I promise. After tonight."

It was the same promise she'd heard for a good year now. It was the same promise he'd repeat, again and again; every time he left rehabilitation centers, every time he would show up at events in similar fashion to this one, every July 23rd.

"Okay," Aleksandra mumbled, "But we need to get serious about this. I know you're hurting, but I can't bear to see you like this. It hurts me too. You need to find another way to deal with all of this, alright?"

He nodded, lowly, "I will. Of course I will. Anything for my little girl."

She frowned slightly, sadly, recalling those same words that she'd, again, heard again and again. With each use, the words invoked less and less meaning, but it was still her father. At least, it was somewhere deep within there.

A buzzer went off behind the two of them, signaling Zarya's need to get ready in another minute or two. She brushed her father's hair back once again, examining him as if to make him however presentable he could possibly be in this state.

"You think you'll be okay back here?"

The old man nodded, waving his arm, directing her to head on out. She smiled lightly at him, reaching over to hug him for a bit, careful not to squeeze as hard as she was truly capable of.

"I love you, dad," she muttered slowly, pulling away and fixing his loosely-fit sweater again, smiling before turning away.

\---------------------------------------------------------

The roaring of the crowd suddenly burst into a dramatic crescendo of decibels as the door opened up, only to pump up even louder as Zarya stepped out onto the floor, the audience suddenly emptying their lungs into the major arena at the sight of her. It wasn't anything she wasn't used to, though she had never entered into an arena this large before. The sound was so much greater, but at a certain point, she looked up and it all just began to look the same.

As she stepped onto the platform that had been erected in the center of the arena, a man clad in black and white pulled up a microphone, walking over toward Zarya, his hand raised in the air, "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Our challenger! Coming in at 1.95 meters, 289 pounds of raw muscle; hailing from the city of Krasnoyarsk- Aleksandra Zaryanova!"

Zarya remained emotionless, simply punching a fist into her open hand, bending her neck back and forth to stretch. The referee turned off the microphone, leaning up to Zarya's ear so that she could hear his shouting in the dense crowd.

"GOOD LUCK. YOU'RE GONNA NEED IT."

She only replied with a slight nod, her stare not breaking from the small walkway across from her that was cut through two large crowds of people, all turned toward it, leaning over its railing in anticipation for whomever would soon emerge.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" the referee shouted into the microphone, dramatically throwing his hand into the air before dropping it toward the opposing door, finger outstretched, "YOUR CHAMPION NEEDS NO INTRODUCTION!"

The massive crowed broke into a deafening symphony of cheers and shrieks as the door suddenly shook, greatly, as if a bull had just run into it, its lock just barely keeping it together. Zarya flinched with only the slightest of micro movements, but her stare remained true.

"THE HUMAN MOUNTAIN! THE MAN ON A MISSION TO RECORD HIS OWN RENDITION! FROM NOVOSIBIRSK, TRAILING THROUGH THE WRONG KIND OF SNOW!"

Suddenly, the doors flew off the hinges, a giant of a man appearing there with his arms outstretched, glaring deeply toward the stage as the referee finished his introduction; though even with the microphone, it just barely made its way out into the same air that was heated with breath, "GIGANTSKIY POYEZD!"

The arena began to shake between the raucous crowd and the man's footsteps as he began his way toward the same stage that Zarya stood upon. Her eyes didn't follow him, but did meet his body for just a split second, her heart dropping just the slightest bit at the sight.

Gigantskiy rumbled as he stepped onto the stairs, his eyes like a lion's stalking his challenger as he turned onto the platform. The referee pulled a whistle to his mouth before holding his arms outstretched dramatically.

"Alright, you two. This is a two round bout. As the challenger, you follow Gigantskiy, alright? As contractually obligated, we are not responsible for any injuries that occur."

The referee pulled his hands back across his body as he stepped back, allowing the two opponents one last word with their respective teams. With her dad in the locker room, Zarya leaned back toward Bruno, who raised his hands to pat both of her arms.

"Bigger in person, huh?"

"They often say the same about me," Zarya confirmed, bringing a grin to her manager's face.

He nodded, "He likes to shortchange himself for the first round, so don't be surprised; that's exactly what he's banking on, okay?"

She nodded as he slapped her arms again, backing off, "YOU GOT THIS!"

Zarya clapped her hands together as Gigantskiy walked around to the massive bar of weights that rest on the platform, his eyes tracking her predatorily as he walked. She met his stare, though with a stingy glare of her own. The giant man stretched his arms one final time as the two barbellsmen measured either side of the bar, nodding to one another as one of them rose a sign that read '245kg'.

As the mountain grasped the bar, he easily lifted it to his thighs, pausing for just a brief moment before throwing it up and over his head, holding in atop his shoulders for a moment before lifting it straight up over his head, the entire process looking so easy. The crowd erupted as he spun around, slowly, showing off his accomplish with a cheap smirk on his face.

"THE BAR SITS AT 245KG!" the referee announced, enthusiastically.

The giant man lowered the barbell back to his thighs before dropping it, unceremoniously, onto the platform. Zarya watched as he clapped his hands together, laughing to his trainer as he nodded triumphantly, quickly refusing the bottle of water that was presented to him.

Before the referee could speak, Zarya was already speaking to the barbellsmen, walking behind the bar herself as the two men rushed behind them, adding more weights to the steel bar.

"THE CHALLENGER IS RAISING THE BAR!" the referee shouted to a renewed, powerful clasp of loud atmosphere.

After another examination, the one barbellsman lifted his sign: "270kg".

Zarya huffed out a hot blast of air through her nostrils as she bent down at her knees, clasping the bar and shutting her eyes, shutting out the noise around her. She meditated on only the bar in her hands which, at this moment, was weightless. She saw herself taming the steel beast, making it her own; conquering it.

Her eyes shot open and, immediately, pulled her body up with the barbell, the crowd going nuts at the sight. Her teeth emerged into a grit, but she slowly practiced lifting it, just slightly pulling it further up in minor bursts. Finally, she brought it up, grunting loud enough in her own head that she couldn't hear the cheers, the bar just clearing her head as she ducked lower.

She stared at the ground, her body shaking as her mind kept track of the time she had to remove the weight from her shoulders. Three…two…

Her voice burst into a muffled shout as the barbell left her frame, her arms powerfully lifting it up into air, the audience going mad at what they were witnessing before their eyes. As her arms extended to their limit, Zarya closed her eyes, focusing on her final action, caring nothing but for balancing the massive sets of weight above her head as she slowly spun around.

A bell sounded, and Zarya immediately dropped the barbell back down to her thighs, carefully lowering it onto the platform as she rose again, her mouth open as she collected her breath, stepping back toward Bruno, who hurriedly brought a towel and water bottle to her face.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," the referee shouted, "THE CHALLENGER HAS SET A NEW RECORD! NOT ONLY FOR WOMEN'S, BUT MEN'S WEIGHTLIFTING!"

The crowd erupted once again, tirelessly, as Gigantskiy eyed Zarya perceptively, almost fuming at her tire after just a single round. He grunted to his trainer who, in turn, rushed to the two barbellsmen.

Bruno shot out as he dried off his competitor's face, "You're fucking blowing my mind right now."

Between heavy, heaving breaths, Zarya managed a grin, though was unable to reply. Bruno continued switching the water bottle from her mouth to simply pouring water onto her face, ensuring to dry her off afterwards.

"This is uncharted territory for him, as well; at least in competition," Bruno assured, "If he can't lift it, he gets another shot at a lower weight on technicality, but if he's unsuccessful again, you just need another clean and jerk of equal or greater value that that last one. Think you can do it?"

Zarya nodded, exhausted, as Gigantskiy rose to his feet, making his way back to the weights. The barbellsman raised the sign yet again: "290kg".

Bruno leaned in, slightly, toward Zarya's ear, "He's unsure. You can see it in his eyes."

The hulking man eyed Zarya once again before squatting down, hurriedly grasping the barbell, lifting it up, slowly. In a matter of seconds, sweat began to pour down his face, his arms and necks all three beginning to bulge tightly as his mouth slowly gaped open, his teeth nearly shaking they were gritting to hard.

Suddenly, the bar slipped, falling from his hands and crashing down onto the platform, causing the crowd to, immediately, grow quiet and still, in sheer horror at what had just happened. Gigantskiy stood there, nearly trembling for a second, before flexing his arms as he tried to relax his muscles. His trainer ran over to assist him, but he quickly shoved him to the side.

"TOO MUCH!" he shouted, ear-shatteringly so, as if the thought were unspeakable.

His trainer hurriedly recovered, carefully speaking to the two barbellsmen as Gigantskiy slowly stared at Zarya, seething, "This is nothing; by the end of this, I'll have carried you outside and thrown you in the dirt."

Zarya stared him down, monotonously replying, "I'd hate to see you unable to lift something else."

He showed his teeth, angrily, as he returned to the barbell, the sign in the air reading "280kg". This time, he managed the feat more swiftly, though not without difficulty. Bruno's voice came from somewhere, quietly, behind Zarya as the large crowd was still somewhat silent.

"This is his training weight, rumor has it. Apparently he was saving the world record for when he needed it in competition."

Zarya had never actually lifted the weight of her first attempt, surprising her enough. Seeing this newer weight was enough to give her a slight sinking feeling. As Gigantskiy lifted the barbell straight over his head, Zarya looked on as the crowd quickly picked back up, their cheering and hollering reemerging, much to the shock of everybody's ears.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, THIS IS INCREDIBLY!" the referee shouted as Gigantskiy finished his spin, dropping the barbell onto the platform, "TWO RECORDS SHATTERED IN ONE NIGHT!"

As he bent back up in relief, Gigantskiy made his way over toward Zarya, forcing Bruno to dash up between the two, holding an arm out to block the giant man, who was peering down at Zarya, sneering, "Teper' ty chertovski mertv, bitch."

He turned to walk off, leaving Zarya watching him angrily, her fists curling as Bruno hurriedly stopped her, "Do it at the barbell, Aleksandra. That's where you get back at him."

She calmed down, taking a deep breath as he went on, "Strip that record from him. I don't particularly care what happens now; you've surely gained acclaim, already, from what you've done."

He patted her back as one of the officials started pushing him off the stage, leaving Zarya alone to walk to the two barbellsmen, who rushed back to return the weights back on that Gigantskiy had just removed, switching the board back to "290kg".

Gigantskiy shook his head with a cocksure grin as the crowd roared back into existence, Zarya's eyes locked onto the metal bar beneath her. She bent down, grasping the steel, closing her eyes, meditating once more.

She saw that bar; that eternal challenge. She had to defeat that bar. It was what stood between her and greatness; not Gigantskiy. Just a lifeless, metal bar. Then she saw that old man from her childhood. Ivanov. The 'Column of Thunder'. One of those who could lift mountains, if need be.

Her eyes shot open and she began deadlifting the bar, the crowd growing still in anticipation as she brought it to her thighs. Her teeth gritted, and she closed her eyes tightly, in genuine fear of them popping out of their sockets. Was she seriously going to lose?

With a very audible, loud, excruciatingly violent grunt, she threw the barbell up, ducking her head underneath it as it came to her shoulders, the crowd immediately shouting out in thunderous cheers at her progress. Zarya desperately grasped for breaths as her time clocked down, her grip tightening as she began pushing up the weight into the air.

Her voice rang out as the barbell lifted ever so slightly into the air, her mouth open wide, "AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

The crowd instantly became silent, on the edge of their collective sanity. Then, so gently, her arms locked, the barbell as high above her as it could go. Her eyes shut tight, she suddenly felt a calm; caught between the pain in her arms and the lack of sound, she might have thought she had perished, but in a second, her entire body trembled beneath the sudden torrent of sound coming from the stands as the crowd reemerged once again, shouting their lungs out.

Even the referee stood in awe as she began her careful turn, her feet stepping as slowly as she could manage. Figuring she should take in the moment, about halfway around, she opened her eyes, peering into the audience, as much in awe of them as they were of her.

Then, almost in slow motion, she game to the body of a man, slumping against the wall of that walkway she'd come out of, her father watching her from afar, coving her mouth in pure shock. If Zarya hadn't been expelling so much sweat, she knew she probably would have shed a tear.

Coming to an end, she stopped, recklessly letting the bar down, dropping it onto the platform as she collapsed onto her knees, clutching at her biceps, agonizingly, as Bruno ran up to her, falling to his own knees, sliding toward her, hunched over to ask her how she was doing.

"L-LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I- I JUST…" the referee couldn't even form a sentence, simply dropping his arm to his side and shaking his head at the sight.

Gigantskiy had already been making his way down the stage, stomping off into the locker room, leaving Zarya, alone, beneath her victorious mass of admirers. Bruno helped her up, though her arms still ached; however, upon seeing the trophy that had been brought up to her, her arms found enough relief to grasp the impressive, gold icon.

She raised it up into the sky, before thunderous cries and applause, turning around to find her father as tears finally began to stream down her face. As she found him, though, she saw him clutching onto the wall, on his knees, trying to make it back into the locker room.

In a mad dash, she pulled the trophy down, jumping a tremendous distance off the platform, hurrying to her father's side. She immediately picked him up, leaving the trophy on the ground as she carrying him back into the locker room, leaving the crowd's appreciative roaring, once again, muted behind the walls.

Bruno did his best to make his way through the crowd of cameras and reporters, making sure to grasp the trophy as he raised an open hand, "We will not be answering questions at this moment! Our first task is to ensure Zarya's trainer gets the help he needs! Thank you!"

Buried beneath questions from a few tens of reporters, Bruno ducked into the locker room himself, hurrying to lock the doors as he spun around, leaning against the door and sliding down to the ground. He sighed distantly, in utter shock at Zarya's performance, but also an angry groan at her trainer, once again, taking away from her accomplishments. He shook his head, making sure the trophy didn't leave his hand as he slowly made his way back to his feet, quickly making his way toward the lockers, in search of the two.


	3. Chapter 3

Aleksandra sat in one of the three hospital chairs that had been placed across from the bed where her father lay, staring at his still body, rarely turning away. She had only gotten up whenever she was instructed to leave during different tests, but for the most part, she hadn't moved at all in the day or so that she'd been there.

She did, however, turn her head at the sound of footsteps, lighting up as her brother walked into the room, unwrapping the scarf from around his neck, "How's he doing?"

Aleksandra replied evenly, "He's stable. That's about all I can say right now."

Bending over in relief, grasping his knees, Luka sighed lightly before making his way toward one of the other chair, taking a seat as he carefully pulled his gloves off, "Did they say what happened?"

"Heart attack, or something," Aleksandra frowned, "I didn't really think it mattered much; in comparison to him recovering, that is ."

Luka turned, watching her critically, "Recovery from what? His drinking? Lesya, surely you know better than anybody how that will go. The same as it has every single time in the past."

"How can you be so cold?" she asked, distantly.

Her brother shrugged, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets as he sunk into the chair, "I've wasted too many years waiting for him to be a father again. Of course I feel bad for him, but he wasn't the only one who lost his family."

Aleksandra lowered her head, sighing deeply, "You were visiting mom?"

He nodded, "Probably helped put me in this mood."

His foot rolled across the floor absently as he spoke further, "Congratulations, by the way. There's a bottle of champagne in the car; I figured we could have some if you weren't too much in the dumps."

Aleksandra nodded, leaning back into her chair, "Yeah, that'd be nice. You know, we hardly ever see each other. Busy work back home?"

"Pretty much," he answered, "Being a public servant pretty much is exactly that. Nothing as showy as your line of work, anyway."

He eyed the trophy Aleksandra has placed on the ground beside her, her eyes catching his stare, "Yeah. Big win last night."

Luka nodded, "Katerina's already gone out and bought a stack of them. The kids aren't old enough to understand yet, but she seems to want them to know their Aunt Lesya's a big deal."

Aleksandra smiled at his words, "I really should stop by more often. They were just born last I saw those two."

"It's fine," Luka muttered, leaning back as he rubbed his eyes, "I mean, you and dad are sort of a package deal. I know you're not exactly comfortable bringing him as well."

She shrugged, "It's just not fair, is all."

Luka sighed, "Look, I think this is probably the best time to discuss this again, given his current state…"

Aleksandra shot him a stare, reluctantly, "Luka, I really don't-"

"I know you don't," he replied, "But, come on, he's interrupting your work now. It's very noble what all you've done for him, but at a certain point, even you-…"

He paused, noticing her dropping head, "I know you've always been closer to him than we were. Do you really think you're helping him by keeping him around?"

"Yes!" Aleksandra spoke back, though her brother was quick to fire back.

"Really? For god sake, he ends up more in the hospital than men twice his age!"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Look, I'm not saying it's your fault or anything, but we're just going through the motions, again and again. Something has to change before this cycle kills him."

"I'll make sure he changes," Aleksandra retorted, although unsurely.

Luka watched her, covering his face, "I've already, more or less, given up on him, so if it's on your shoulders, I really couldn't care less. I just don't want you to get hurt, or to put your career in jeopardy."

Aleksandra turned to him, "I'll help him."

Her brother sighed, stuffing his hands back into his coat pockets, watching the man lying still on the bed across from him, emotionlessly. Suddenly, a man emerged at his side, forcing him to turn, quickly, meeting a rather scrawny man, grasping onto his coat with both hands at his midsection.

"How is he?" he asked.

Aleksandra's voice emerged, quietly, "Still nothing."

Bruno sighed, walking into the room, dropping his coat off as he passed an empty chair, "Okay. Now, Zarya, I'm simply your manager, so I know that, alone, isn't the most personal of relationships. However, you do pay me to ensure your career is consistently rising- in that, there's some sort of provision for ensuring nothing hinders your career."

He pointed toward the man in the bed, beside him, "It's time you dropped him."

Aleksandra's head whipped up toward him, "What?!"

Bruno sighed, "Zarya, the man ruined your celebration."

"I don't give a damn about the celebration; I'd already won!" she shot back.

Her exhausted manager sighed once more, pulling a newspaper out from his pocket, unfolding it before handing it to her, "See that? "Zaryanova Trainer Collapses On Heels of New Record". You may not give a damn, but the press, sponsors, and event managers do."

Zarya stared at the black and white paper, horrified, as Luka spoke up, quietly, "Lesya. It took Katerina four hours to find a newspaper that didn't mention it."

She shot him a confused stare before spinning back toward Bruno, who watched her with pity, "Look, I know you care deeply about him. I don't pretend to know why that is, but I can't allow this partnership to continue if it continues to be of detriment to your career."

He turned back toward the man he knew as Lars, shaking his head, "One more slip up, and it won't be a choice for you to make. You'll take my status and reputation as far as I'll take yours, but I have no problem walking, myself. I don't have time for this sort of thing; not anymore."

He began to gather his things, walking toward the door, "Nationals are coming up. I'll stay in touch."

Unceremoniously tipping his hat, Bruno left, leaving the two siblings alone. Aleksandra buried her face in her hands, quietly disappearing into herself. Luka watched her, sadly, groaning as he rubbed his face.

"I guess I can help out," he muttered, "I don't want him near my kids with how he is, at least for the time being, but I'll help out if you need anything. I'll ask the wife and see what all we can do for him."

He stood up and walked over his sister, rubbing her shoulder, "He'll be fine. And god damn have you gotten stronger."

She shook lightly with laughter, lifting herself up, "I can still pin you to the ground, punk."

"That hasn't been a surprise for many, many years," Luka replied, dismissively, "Hey, I'll go get something to eat if you want to stay here. What do you want?"

"Just whatever. There's a place across the street if you're into burgers."

"Mmm!" Luka moaned, expressively, "I'll run if I can. Give me a few minutes."

He pushed her wallet away and walked out, leaving Aleksandra to lean back in her chair, stretching her arms behind her head as her hands clutched together behind her head, watching her father absently.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Luka grabbed for his drink before propping his feet up on a nearby table, on the edge of a laugh, "Okay, okay; that's true, but you remember how the old lady would stand behind the fence with a broom and just stand there for days, just in case we accidentally hit another ball over""

Aleksandra had also been in the throes of laughter, nodding in reply, "She thought she hated it, but we kept her young. She walked around frailly enough, probably for sympathy, but she swatted away like a golfer, that's for sure!"

"A very bad golfer," Luka snickered, sipping at his drink, "You know, those damn Americans were onto something with this food here. I don't usually eat out a lot; Katerina prefers having everybody around a home cooked meal."

"All that trouble you go through and she still won't let you?" Aleksandra grinned, evilly, with a sidelong glance as she made a whipping sound.

Her brother eyed her cautiously, "Hey, I don't-"

He paused as her words finally deciphered in his mind, leaving him with a sigh as he shook his head, smirking, "You know, it's good you weren't able to corrupt Sasha with all these crude jokes of yours. What, you pick them up from the gym?"

She shrugged, laughing lightly, "Some you just pick up. C'mon, I'm the older sister; I've got to keep you in the know. It's my responsibility."

"Really?" Luka replied, smugly, "I find it difficult to believe that every younger brother gets told, early on, that their favorite television show is "fake"."

Aleksandra grinned to him, "I said I'd keep you in the know, not tell the truth; I'm shocked you believed me!"

"Speaking of, " Luka went on, "You didn't give Sasha half the crap you gave me. What, was this the matriarchy or something?"

"I needed to know who could or could usurp me," Aleksandra clarified with an amused shrug, "Besides, she was far too adorable for me to tease."

The air grew coldly quiet as the two remained still, both reminiscing on times long lost. Luka slowly stirred his straw around in his cup, staring at it distantly as his sister's eyes veered off toward the window.

"It would have been her birthday a month ago," Luka spoke up, guiltily, "I didn't see you at her grave."

Aleksandra sighed, "I was busy."

"I was just saying; I didn't mean anything by it," he confirmed, surely, "There's nothing inherently wrong with focusing on things that are, you know, not, uh, deceased."

"It's not that, just… It's still pretty difficult for me to get over."

Luka nodded sympathetically, exhaling greatly as he leaned back in his chair, pulling his hands behind his head, "Well, that seems to be a trend with this family. Katerina seems more invested in our family sticking it out more than I am."

Aleksandra clenched her lips in thought, leaning forward onto her knees, "Maybe that's why I'm trying so hard for dad. I know he turned into a crummy father figure but, I mean, he's the only one I have. That has to be worth something. It's not like he meant for mom to die or for it to affect him so much in this way. He's just doing what the both of us are doing-trying to weave his way through life, doing what he can to bear with the bad times."

"Well, we didn't inherit his bottle-therapy," Luka muttered glibly.

Aleksandra looked up toward her father, sincerely, "You don't think you went into your career because of him?"

"Hey, I despise what he's become," Luka corrected, "I still love the man, but come on. You know, when we were growing up, he might as well have been Superman in my eyes. Now look at him; he's a mess, made up of more rum and beer than water. I can't exactly forgive him for ignoring us after mom and Sasha died. They were gone, not us."

He paused, shaking his head as he adjusted into his seat, "Why? Is that why you went into weight lifting or something?"

"No, no," Aleksandra mumbled, almost with a laugh, "I know he would have preferred his daughters to be little princesses. It's just funny; he came out to watch me at the competition, and he'd never done it before- or, you know, that I'd known. He would usually stay in the back and rest or, I don't know, maybe that's when he drank. Either way, I hadn't ever seen his eyes like that before."

She sighed, distantly, "I know he's proud of us, but, you know, you can say that all you want- it doesn't make it true. But for the briefest of seconds, I saw him proud of me. It took me back to when we were kids; him helping me with some math or Russian, and when I finally got it…"

Aleksandra had begun to grin nostalgically, "There's just no words to describe it, you know. Dad was my hero too, and to make him so proud, it meant the world."

Luka slid deeper into his chair, almost going horizontal as he clasped his hands together atop his stomach, "Well, I'd be proud just to see him better at this point. You know, not in a hospital bed of all places."

Aleksandra nodded, thoughtfully, "I won't let him down. Not again."


End file.
